


Of Masks and Murderers

by Tedronai



Series: The End of an Age [3]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Age of Legends, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Midwinter's Night, some years after the drilling of the Bore, and Paraan Disen is celebrating the changing of the year...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Masks and Murderers

“I will need to see your invitation, sir.”

Elan Morin Tedronai held up an envelope for inspection without looking at the doorman, and the next moment the massive double doors flung open and he and his companion were ushered in. Servants took their cloaks and, with deferential bows, they were escorted to the brightly lit Hall of Revels.

The celebrations were already well underway and the entrance of two more revellers was barely noted. Elan glanced sideways at his companion, whose white-gloved hand rested lightly on his arm, as they made their way through the brightly attired, masked masses. The dark eyes gazing out through the silver-embroidered mask were unamused and the sensual mouth was set in a displeased frown.

“You were hoping to make a grand entrance?” Elan asked, not bothering to conceal his amusement.

“I would be a fool to expect such a thing in this place,” Mierin Eronaile replied coolly. “With you, of all people.”

Elan smiled, a brief twitch of his lips. “Indeed.” He well knew that Mierin would have better liked to parade these halls on the arm of another, but Lews Therin Telamon had wed his sun-haired Ilyena in the summer past; if Mierin had not taken the news with particularly good grace, that was her problem. “But you are here with me, of all people,” Elan said, lowering his voice, “and if you even think of making a scene, I will see you out if it means I will miss the festivities myself.”

The dark eyes flashed dangerously, but Elan faced her down unflinching until she gave a curt nod. She owed him, after all; she had not been invited and could gain access only as the companion of someone with an invitation. Elan did not expect the gratitude to last long — Mierin took advantage, she did not owe favours — but tonight a word from him could see her removed from the premises and she was clever enough to know that and heed caution. Elan himself was mildly bemused every year to receive the invitation; he was hardly a jewel in this glittering crown of society despite having been granted a third name. No, he was a scholar, renowned and respected if rarely understood, and he was willing to wager that his… _inclusion_ … in this prestigious group had at least as much to do with his long-standing friendship with Lews Therin and Barid Bel Medar as with his academic endeavours.

 

As they navigated through the crowd, Elan could feel the eyes of several curious individuals following them. He glanced at Mierin again, to find her smiling slightly. The attention had not escaped her notice. Well and so; if it kept her on a reasonable mood, he was not going to begrudge her that. And he had to admit that they did stand out in the crowd. Amongst the sea of bright colours, frills, ribbons and lace, the understated elegance of both their attires drew the eye. For Elan, the effect had not been a calculated one; he simply preferred the stark, unrelieved black over more fashionable colours. Even the glass beads sewn onto his velvet mask were black, glittering darkly under the bright lights. And Mierin… Mierin always wore white, these days, for reasons that she would not divulge, and the elaborate silver embroidery of her gown glimmered like moonlight on fresh snow. The silver net holding her lustrous, black hair created an image reminiscent of a starry winter night; the impression was without a doubt consciously sought. And against the white and black, her lips were painted crimson… like blood on snow. And presently curved in a razor-thin smile, sharp enough to cut diamonds. Elan followed her gaze, knowing already whom he would find.

 

The tallest man in the room, Lews Therin Telamon was wearing a suit of crimson and blue, so thickly embroidered with gold thread at places that the original fabric was barely visible underneath. Elan shook his head in amusement; only Lews could possibly bear a king’s ransom in gold thread without looking ridiculous. He, too, wore a mask, like everyone else, but no mere mask would hide his identity, not when his sheer presence seemed to demand twice again the space that his considerable physical frame required. And at his side stood his wife, Ilyena Therin Moerelle, the blue of her gown matching that of her husband’s suit and — although Elan couldn’t see it at the distance — her eyes, sapphires flashing at her ears and throat, her hair like spun gold decorated with numerous blue ribbons and pearls.

“We’re not—” Elan began, quietly but firmly, but it was too late for Lews had already noticed them.

A grin spread across the crimson-masked face, flashing white teeth, as the First Among Servants strode forth to greet his friend. “Elan!” he exclaimed. Elan gave a minuscule bow in greeting — or tried to, but the taller man pulled him into a crushing embrace. “I did not expect to see you, my friend,” Lews said after releasing him, one hand still on Elan’s shoulder even as he placed his other arm around his wife’s waist in a proprietary fashion. “I hoped, as ever, but didn’t think you’d show up.”

Elan straightened his mask carefully, more unsettled by the forceful display of affection than he wanted to let on. “Oh, you know,” he replied casually, “I was… convinced.”

Mierin, who had somehow managed to fade into the background for a moment, stepped up beside Elan and claimed his arm again. “Lews Therin Telamon,” she said, her voice like steel coated in honey. She inclined her head in polite greeting.

Lews looked sharply from her to Elan and back again. “Mierin,” he returned the greeting at length. Though his voice was mild, there was an air of wariness about him. “I am glad to see you well.”

“Likewise.” A casual listener might have mistaken her tone for genuine warmth. Blood-red lips curled in a smile. Then she tilted her head and turned to look at Elan. “I recall you promised me dancing. Shall we..?” She tugged at his arm, starting towards the dance floor. “Perhaps I’ll see you later… Lews.”

Elan cast one last look behind, grimacing slightly, before letting her draw him into the sea of dancing couples and glittering colours. She danced well, gliding across the dance floor in his arms, light as winter breeze and little warmer. The lights seemed brighter for her presence, yet their warm glow seemed garish in comparison. Her breath on his neck, the scent of her perfume… Had he been two hundred years younger, Elan might have been tempted to forget who and what she was. Might have. He didn’t think it likely.

 

The song ended and another began, but Elan pulled out of the crowd, towards the outer edges of the Hall. Mierin sniffed and folded her arms, but she didn’t have to wait long before a man in a bright violet attire and black, feathered mask bowed before her and led her back to the dance floor. Elan accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant and watched as Mierin and her new partner soon vanished from sight.

“Bold move,” a voice by his left shoulder said quietly.

Elan turned to see the intruder; a slender figure, shorter than Elan, was lounging near the wall, one hand behind his back, the other holding a wine glass. He was clad in dark burgundy velvet, the snowy lace at the throat and cuffs creating a stark contrast with his dark skin, with a mask of red so dark it was nearly black. Glossy black curls fell to his shoulders in an unruly mass that Elan was willing to bet was a deliberate affectation rather than actual carelessness.

“Don’t try to tell me you were invited,” Elan said dryly and sipped his wine.

Eval Ramman flashed a grin, and eyes like black jewels glittered behind the mask. “I am here as the guest of… What was her name again?” He made a dismissive gesture with the hand that held the wine glass, miraculously without spilling a drop. “It matters not. I am here.” The grin turned feral. “And so is… Mierin. As I said, Tedronai. Bold move.”

Elan shrugged, not overly concerned. He had placed a tracking weave on Mierin before coming here. With her consent, of course; it had been one of his conditions for agreeing to this. He didn’t want to discover in the early hours of the first day of the New Year that she had managed to corner Ilyena alone in a deserted hallway and murdered her. Not because he cared whether Lews Therin’s wife lived or not, but because he would have been complicit simply by bringing her.

“We’re not the only ones here tonight, you know,” Eval said after a while.

Elan arched an eyebrow and looked around the crowded Hall. “It appears your assessment is accurate,” he replied.

The other man snorted softly. “Come now, you know what I mean,” he murmured.

Elan did indeed; he had spotted some of them himself. Others who served the Great Lord of the Dark. “And your point is..?”

“Must I have a point?” Eval replied, almost blithely. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He tilted his head to look up at Elan with a lazy, insolent smile. He had the disadvantage of stature, social standing, rank among the Friends of the Dark, strength in the One Power… Indeed, every possible disadvantage Elan could think of, and yet he projected such utter confidence that it was all Elan could do to not back away.

He made himself relax. “Must you?” he repeated wryly. “Are you asking me as a philosopher… or your superior?”

Eval laughed, dissolving the tension of the moment. “A very good question,” he said. A woman in scarlet silks appeared behind him, pressing herself against his back and whispering something into his ear that provoked a sly grin. Eval drained his glass and set it casually on the tray of a passing servant. “Well, my friend, it has been entertaining, but I fear nowhere near as entertaining as the rest of the night is looking out to be…” He winked, and the woman punched his arm and giggled drunkenly. “Give my regards to Mierin, should you see her again.”

Elan watched as the pair took their leave, Eval deftly guiding his none-too-steady companion through the Hall without bumping into any of the dancing couples. Eval Ramman, a sometime scholar, gambler, hedonist with a violent temper which had got him into trouble on several occasions. More recently, a servant of the Great Lord, and a moderately successful one at that. A memory surfaced, unbidden, of their years in the university as students, so long ago. They had never been friends, precisely — Elan had ever had few genuine friends — but they had got on well enough. Like Elan himself, Eval had never quite fit in, although for very different reasons. Somehow, over the past few years since the discovery of the Great Lord in his prison… Eval Ramman had become dangerous.

 

The evening wore on at a sluggish pace. Elan danced with half a dozen women, exchanging few words with any of them and each of them got bored of his company before long, and eventually he found himself a seat by one of the tables that lined the Hall. Every now and then he saw Mierin on the dance floor, in the arms of a different man every time and not a one of them was Lews therin. Elan didn’t expect Mierin would succeed in getting him alone for long enough to put any sinister plan into action, and most likely the same went for the lady Ilyena, but still Elan kept track of her whereabouts. He drank wine in moderation; he wanted his wits about him if Mierin did decide to attempt something stupid.

Why had he agreed to babysit her, anyway? There was a reason he usually avoided such gatherings, and it was because he did not enjoy them.

A shadow fell over him, interrupting his reverie. He looked up to find a familiar figure towering over him; indeed, even with a mask covering half his face, Barid Bel Medar was someone Elan would recognise anywhere. Tall and imposing, in dark green and bronze brocade, he cut a dashing figure; the somber colours made him stand out in the crowd, if nowhere near as much as Elan and Mierin.

“Rumour has it,” Barid began without preamble, taking a seat next to Elan, “that you’re here with Mierin Eronaile?”

“Rumour occasionally has it right,” Elan replied wryly. “Good to see you, too, old friend.”

Barid made a disgusted face. “Must you remind me of my age?”

Elan snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with your age,” he said. “And last I checked I was the older of the two of us.”

“Not that you act it,” Barid replied. He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Not that two years here or there is anything to us.” Having nothing to say to that, Elan merely shrugged. Barid eyed him through the bronze mask. “I’ve not see you for a while. How are you? …Truly?”

Elan smiled faintly. “Same as ever,” he replied with another shrug. _Making plans to end the civilisation as we know it._ He couldn’t exactly say that out loud, though. “I’ve been worse,” he added when Barid didn’t look convinced. “Truly. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Barid held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed. “You are,” he said. “My apologies. Old habits…”

“Trust me, I know.” For a while, silence reigned. A song finished, and the musicians began another. “…Isn’t this one of Joar’s?” Elan asked, listening. “You remember him, don’t you?” Joar Addam Nessosin had been at the university with Elan, Barid and Lews, but had pursued a career in music rather than academics afterwards.

“Oh, aye.” Barid flashed a wry smile. “He’s here, too, you know. Well on the way to getting roaring drunk, last I saw him.”

“I wish him the joy of it,” Elan replied. “Tell me, Barid, do you still dance?”

Barid opened his mouth to answer, took another look at Elan, and closed it again. He shook his head with rueful amusement. “You’re not actually joking, are you?” It was not really a question, and so Elan didn’t answer. “You do realise we’re not twenty-five anymore?” Barid asked again, with something that might have been regret in his voice. Elan was certain that his friend was also remembering that night, so long ago, when they had first attended the new year’s celebrations on Midwinter’s Night in this Hall. They had danced together, then, more than a little drunk, on wine and their own youth and beauty and brilliance. It had taken them a long time afterwards to convince Lews that they were not, in fact, lovers.

“Oh, absolutely,” Elan replied, smiling slightly. “We’re respectable adults, now. And, I’m sorry to have to break this to you, Barid, but nobody is going to care.” Certainly not Lews, busy as he was doting on his beautiful wife and no doubt avoiding Mierin with all he might.

Barid laughed half-incredulously, but then he tossed aside his rigid demeanour and consideration of rumours. “Ah, whatever, why ever not!” He stood up and gave a smooth bow, extending his hand.

Elan took it. Barid led him to the dance floor. It was surprisingly easy, Elan reflected, to fall into the role of the following party and letting Barid lead. It had often been thus between them, although nearly as often it had also been the other way around. As the two best friends of Lews Therin, who was at once damnably easy to love and difficult to like, they had developed an understanding, long ago. And although life had taken them separate ways, some of that understanding was there, buried deep but too old and true to ever completely fade. The thought was oddly comforting.

As if he had read Elan’s thoughts, Barid spoke then. “You do know you can tell me anything?” he asked, not a hint of awkwardness or humour in his voice, just concern and the steady reassurance that was so quintessentially Barid.

Elan had to fight the urge to laugh. _No, my friend. Not this time…_ But he didn’t say that out loud. “I know,” he replied. For a moment, just a brief moment he let his head rest on Barid’s shoulder. Barid made no comment, just held him firmly and led him through the steps of the dance until the song ended. “Thank you,” he said as they made their way out of the dance floor.

“What for?” Barid replied. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

That Elan could agree with, and he was about to say so when suddenly their path was blocked. Mierin looked from Elan to Barid and back with poorly concealed amusement — which, of course, meant that she was not in fact trying to conceal it. Her companion, a short, compact man with golden hair and square-cut beard, dressed in a suit so bright green it nearly hurt the eye, laughed out loud.

“Well, well!” he said with a drunken cheer. “Barid! I thought you said you were only going to dance with Ilyena this night, but I appear to have misheard; it must have been Elan after all!”

Elan felt Barid tense, and laid a hand on his arm. “Forgive me, but it appears you have the advantage of me — who exactly am I talking to?” Elan asked, all cool politeness.

The man bowed slightly. “Tel Janin Aellinsar, at your service,” he replied. “And—”

“Oh, I know Mierin,” Elan interrupted him, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. In the meanwhile Mierin gestured to a servant, and one appeared with a tray. Elan accepted the glass Mierin handed over to him; the liquid was bright and sparkling and tasted faintly of citrus. “Thank you, dear. I take it your hunt for poor Lews Therin has not been particularly fruitful?” From the corner of his eye he saw Barid hide a smile behind his glass.

Mierin was less amused. “You’d do well to watch that tongue of yours, Tedronai,” she hissed, eyes blazing in fury.

Elan smiled in return. “Or you’ll do what?” he asked lightly, hoping to play the whole exchange down as a joke. He probably would not have succeeded had Tel Janin not been as drunk as he was; he didn’t know the man particularly well but nonetheless enough to know that there was a keen intellect behind all the bluster. As it was, Mierin herself seemed to get a grip on her temper and flashed a dazzling smile.

“Some things, my dear, are best left until we’re alone,” she said in a honeyed voice that left very little room for imagination.

“Indeed,” Elan replied blandly and drained his glass. He noted Barid watching him with a thoughtful look, but held his polite smile until Mierin and her companion had vanished into the crowd again. Then he faced Barid, silently daring him to ask the questions that surely must be in his mind.

Barid didn’t. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you she’s trouble,” he said instead.

“No, you don’t,” Elan replied wryly. That, at least, was Light’s honest truth. He didn’t elaborate, and Barid let it lie.

“I suppose you know what you’re doing, then.”

Elan was about to say something, but the look behind Barid’s mask told him the man was no longer listening. Elan followed his eyes and saw a figure in blue approaching. The crowd parted before Ilyena Sunhair and more than a few people were watching her and a speculative murmur rose where she passed. Elan looked back to Barid, who was staring as if spellbound, and laid a hand on his arm. “Barid…” he began quietly, but didn’t get further than that before Ilyena reached them.

 

“Lady Ilyena,” Barid greeted her with a stiff bow, his voice bleak and colourless.

“Barid,” she replied and inclined her head slightly. “It has been brought to my attention that you might wish to dance with me.”

“I might,” Barid said, all impersonal courtesy and manners, but Elan could feel him practically quivering with tension.

Ilyena was neither blind nor stupid; she cast a considering look at Elan, and her lips curled in a brief smile. “Fear not, Master Tedronai, I will return him to you safe and sound.”

Elan acknowledged her words with a minuscule bow. “Much appreciated, my lady.” He released Barid’s arm and watched him take Ilyena’s hand and lead her to the dance floor as the musicians began a new song, slow and light and elegant. They danced well together, Barid and Ilyena, despite everything. Elan knew Barid had fancied himself in love with her; whether there was any substance to his feelings other than his damned competition against Lews Therin was anyone’s guess. Even Elan couldn’t tell the truth of that, and he was fairly sure he still knew Barid better than anyone under the sun.

 

Left alone again, Elan made his way back to the tables where he had been sitting earlier, only to find that his place had been taken. He wandered the outer edges of the Hall for a while, feeling suddenly uneasy in the crowd. He went through the mental exercises to calm himself, making himself breathe evenly, mentally mapping the route to the nearest exit should the situation escalate. He wished Barid would come back. Or failing that, even Lews or Mierin; he needed a distraction, anything to keep his mind occupied. He made himself focus on the tracking weave, locating Mierin across the Hall. He was about to set out looking for her when his path was blocked.

“What about you, Master Tedronai?” Ilyena Therin asked. “Will you dance with me?”

Elan blinked, focusing with some difficulty on the woman before him. “Where did you put Barid?”

Ilyena tilted her head curiously, sapphire eyes sparkling with amusement. “I could hardly put him anywhere,” she replied. “I believe he went to get a drink.” She extended her hand. “Shall we?”

Elan accepted it and followed her, telling himself that this would do for a distraction as well as anything, willing it to be true. Soon enough he realised it was not working; he was feeling dizzy and having trouble following the steps. Ilyena noticed that all was not right, of course, and stopped. “Are you alright?” she asked.

The floor tilted under Elan’s feet and he grasped weakly at Ilyena’s arm for support. Her face swam in his vision, the sea of people all around them blurred into a colourful mass. “I think I need to sit down,” he muttered — or tried to. He wasn’t entirely sure the words were intelligible, but Ilyena seemed to get the point and began to lead him out of the crowd.

Mierin appeared out of nowhere and took his other arm, and together the two women led him out of the Hall. Elan could hear Mierin speaking, saying something about too much to drink and not to worry, and Ilyena responding with something he couldn’t make out for the ringing in his ears. He tried to protest — he had definitely not drank that much — but the words refused to form properly. It occurred to him belatedly, as though his mind was operating with less than half speed, that this was not simply a physical reaction to anxiety, either. It had begun much the same way, which was why he hadn’t realised the truth while he was still able to communicate: he had been drugged. Stumbling between the two women, his limbs leaden and his thoughts increasingly sluggish, he hoped against hope that Barid had seen them leave the Hall, but somehow he suspected that Mierin had made sure he was otherwise occupied. With that thought, blackness claimed him.

 

He regained consciousness briefly as he was laid down on what seemed to be a not particularly comfortable couch in a dimly lit room. Mierin’s unmasked face hovered above him, shifting in and out of focus. His own mask was nowhere in evidence. She smiled when she noticed him looking at her; a cruel smile, false sympathy mingled with contempt and murderous intent. Elan tried to speak, but found himself unable to form words. The room appeared to be spinning around him.

“Hush, dear,” Mierin whispered and put a finger on his lips. “Do me a favour and go back to sleep, will you?”

Cursing himself for an idiot, Elan watched helplessly as she vanished from his field of vision. Whatever she was up to, he couldn’t stop her like this, too weak to lift a finger or even keep his eyes open…

 

He was floating, or flying, or maybe falling through darkness. He didn’t know where he was or how he had got there; all he knew was he wanted out but he had no control over his body. He lost sense of time, minutes stretched into Ages. At times he couldn’t remember who he was; he would have screamed, then, but he couldn’t make a sound. He thought he heard voices, as if from a great distance, too far to make out the words. Once he stopped breathing and for a moment he was convinced he didn’t need air anymore, until his body told him otherwise. Panic gripped him and gave him the strength to draw a gasping breath, and another, and then he couldn’t stop until darkness swallowed him again.

 

The next thing he knew was someone gripping his hand so hard it hurt. “Light burn you, Elan,” Barid’s voice said from somewhere far away. “What have you got yourself into?” Another voice, louder and commanding, said something but Elan couldn’t make out the words. He struggled to open his eyes and succeeded eventually, squinting against the sudden brightness. It took him a while to focus his gaze and when he did, he saw Lews Therin towering over him, his attention focused on something outside Elan’s field of vision. Elan turned his head to find Barid kneeling beside the couch, still holding Elan’s hand with both of his.

The movement caught Barid’s eye. “He’s awake,” he reported. Lews and another person, a man Elan didn’t recognise, crowded in on either side of Barid. “What happened?” Barid asked.

“Mierin,” Elan replied, or tried to; his mouth was parched and his tongue felt thick. Somebody brought a glass to his lips and Barid held his head up to help him drink. “Mierin,” Elan repeated. “Where is Ilyena?” He had not the strength to explain in greater detail, but the reactions told him that everyone present grasped his meaning. All three men sprung to their feet as if stung.

“Silas, with me,” Lews said sharply, taking charge. “Barid, stay with Elan… Please?” he added, more softly.

Barid nodded stiffly. “Just find her,” he said. The other two vanished; Elan could head a door slamming shut. He closed his eyes — the world tilted and spun around him — but he could hear Barid pacing restlessly. After a moment the pacing stopped and there was a clink of glass against a hard surface. Then, a muttered oath and the sound of glass shattering.

Elan opened his eyes again. “Barid,” he whispered. The other man turned to look at him. Elan didn’t particularly want to even think about getting up, he felt sick and dizzy and cold and his head hurt, but he did have the means of finding Mierin. He said as much, telling Barid about the tracking weave.

Barid didn’t look entirely convinced. “You don’t look up to it,” he said. “I should go get a Healer.”

“Good luck finding a sober one in this building on this night,” Elan muttered wryly. “I can find Mierin.”

“Ilyena could be in danger,” Barid said, clearly attempting to convince himself one way or another. He fixed Elan with a sharp look. “You really think Mierin would..?”

“I’m not sure,” Elan replied. The question was not, in his mind, whether Mierin was capable of cold-blooded murder, but whether she would be reckless enough to attempt it during the party. “Light only knows, but I’m not sure I’d like to gamble on it.” He pushed himself up on his elbows and grit his teeth against a wave of dizziness. With Barid’s help he got to his feet, and instantly regretted the whole endeavour as the room spun wildly around him. He closed his eyes and let out a hissing breath.

“This is ridiculous,” Barid muttered, but his arms supporting Elan were steady.

“Upstairs,” Elan gasped. “Next floor. I think.” Forcing his body to obey he started forward, giving Barid the option of following or trying to physically restrain him. Barid, quite expectedly, chose the former.

 

Out in the hallway they could hear the music from the Hall of Revels, the steady din of conversation and laughter. Leaning heavily on Barid, Elan followed where the tracking weave pointed him, towards Mierin. The stairs were a trial, and once Elan stumbled badly enough to inadvertently pull Barid down with him. Shorter and lighter than Barid he might be, but he was still a grown man and lacking most of his coordination capabilities. Barid made no comment, just picked them both up again.

“Is she still in the same location?” Barid asked.

Elan closed his eyes and with a shaking hand wiped his hair from his face. “As far as I can tell,” he said, hoping the words were intelligible. He wanted so badly to lie down and maybe never have to move again; his head felt heavy and the headache pounding behind his eyes made his vision pulse.

“You could just tell me where she is,” Barid suggested. Concern warred with impatience in his voice.

“It’s not that simple,” Elan replied. If he knew the building better, and if he hadn’t been so disoriented, then perhaps he could have pinpointed the presence of Mierin in a certain room judging by the direction and distance. But as it was, he wouldn’t count on it.

“Well then,” Barid muttered under his breath.

 

It felt like the hallway went on forever, but finally, at the end of it, Elan could sense the presence of Mierin — or at least the tracking weave, which had to be still attached to her — in the room beyond the door to the right. Barid gave him a questioning look, and he nodded. He leaned on the wall to give Barid the freedom to act should the situation escalate so that more drastic measures were necessary. He hoped it wouldn’t; he didn’t know what to expect anymore, but it was way too early for open confrontation between Friends of the Dark and the Hall of Servants, and if Mierin had harmed Ilyena, she might trigger exactly that.

Barid, ever the eloquent one, promptly kicked the door in and barged into the room. And stopped dead. There was silence. Curiosity won over discomfort, and Elan followed Barid.

The room looked like it might be normally used for small conferences or entertaining guests; it was cosy enough while maintaining a certain air of formality. Four women — Ilyena and Mierin, obviously, and two Friends of the Dark, named Nemene Damendar Boann and Saine Tarasind — were sitting on the couches, casually sipping wine, eyeing Barid with varying degrees of curiosity and disapproval. Nemene caught Elan’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod; she had had the situation well under control. Elan closed his eyes briefly, suppressing a sigh of relief. Saine smiled blandly and Mierin’s eyes flashed with fury behind her mask, but obviously the presence of the other two had deterred her from whatever she had been planning to do with Ilyena. And Ilyena herself did not seem oblivious to the hostile undercurrents in the room, even if she couldn’t know what exactly was going on, but she took the sudden appearance of Barid and Elan in stride.

“Happy New Year, gentlemen,” she said brightly. Then she took a second look at Elan and a frown creased her brow. “Light gracious, Elan, you look horrible!” She set her glass on the table and stood up, shooting a look of profound disapproval at Barid. “Please tell me there was a reason for dragging him here?”

Barid turned a thoroughly unflattering shade of purple with outrage, and Elan had to laugh at the look on his face. He was still laughing when his knees folded and he sank to the floor, the room going dark before his eyes.

 

“…Idiot,” he heard someone — Nemene? — say in a haughty tone. A quick assessment of the situation told him that he was still on the floor, supported in a sitting position by… Barid? Yes, Barid. The headache was gone, as was the sickening dizziness and the fog clouding his mind. That was an improvement. A vast, vast improvement.

“ _I_ am an idiot?” Barid replied in a sharp, dangerous voice somewhere near Elan’s left ear. Elan winced involuntarily, and the movement caught Barid’s attention and whatever he had been about to say in his defence never got voiced. “Elan?” he said, more softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I told you, he’s fine,” Nemene snapped. “Or do you doubt my abilities?”

Barid did not deign to reply to that. “Elan?” he repeated.

“Fine,” Elan replied, opening his eyes to find a legion of concerned faces staring down at him. Even Lews Therin was there, and several others who hadn’t been there a moment ago. Elan stifled a groan; all this attention was quite literally the last thing he wanted. Instead he just repeated, “I’m fine.”

Thankfully, Barid accepted it and stood up, then held his hand to Elan, who didn’t particularly need the help but took it anyway. Lews turned to talk to his companions, who dispersed soon after. Ilyena and Saine stood back, the latter keeping a sharp eye on Mierin, the former watching Barid and Elan with a slight frown.

“Well, this has been… interesting,” Barid said in a low voice.

Elan shrugged. “What can I say,” he replied. “There’s a reason why I don’t do parties.”

“Yes, speaking of that…” Barid cast a thoughtful glance in Mierin’s direction. “Why exactly _did_ you? And with Mierin, of all people? You had to suspect she might attempt something stupid, you must have had a reason for placing the tracking weave. So… Why bring her in the first place?”

People often took Barid’s temper and bluntness for lack of perceptiveness, but Elan knew otherwise. He should have anticipated the question. He should have had an answer prepared, but the truth was he wasn’t entirely sure himself. He shrugged again. “She asked me to,” he said. “I was bored.” He grimaced slightly. “Of course I took precautions, but I didn’t think she’d actually be stupid enough to act.”

Barid didn’t look fully convinced, but didn’t press the matter. “Well, just be more careful…” He trailed off with a slightly sheepish expression.

Elan had to smile. “Next time?” he suggested. “Yes, absolutely, I was planning on attending more parties with her, seeing as this has been so much fun…”

“Ah, shut up,” Barid said, but there was no heat in his voice; he knew Elan’s comment wasn’t meant to offend. “And while we’re on the subject, I think it’s about time Mierin took her leave from this party, too.”

“Agreed on that count,” Elan replied. He raised his voice slightly. “Mierin, we’re leaving.”

Barid made an impatient sound and shook his head. “I didn’t mean you had to leave, too,” he protested, catching Elan’s arm. “We have more than enough reason to throw her out but it doesn’t need to mean you have to go.”

Elan looked back at him. There were unspoken questions written on Barid’s face, curiosity and suspicion and regret and concern, and something that Elan couldn’t identify at first. Something fierce and stubborn, something that couldn’t care less what anyone thought. And when Elan did realise, he had to look away. _Love. Oh, Barid… I’m sorry._ Somehow he found the energy to dredge up a smile, and looked up again. “I’m tired,” he said. That, at least, was Light’s honest truth. “I’d really rather just leave.”

“If you two are quite finished..?” a frosty voice said, and Elan turned to see Mierin. Nemene stood behind her, clearly about to follow her until she was out of the building.

Elan gave a soft, mirthless chuckle. “Quite finished,” he agreed. He turned to leave, expecting the women to follow, which they did. Barid followed, too, but said nothing. A servant brought their cloaks. At the door Elan looked at Barid again; the other man looked almost as tired as Elan felt, but hid it better, and Elan doubted anyone else would notice anything wrong.

“Take care of yourself, you hear me?” Barid said.

“Don’t I always?” Elan replied, and then he was out of the door before Barid could point out what a blatant lie that was.

 

The streets were quiet at this hour; the celebration would go on until dawn but mostly indoors. Elan walked for a while in silence, Mierin following half a step behind. Wind tore at his cloak, whipping the hood back, but the cold didn’t bother him. After a while he spoke. “I hope you realise that if you try anything like that again, I will kill you.”

“Unless I kill you first,” Mierin replied.

Elan snorted. “I don’t think you’ll want to do that. The Great Lord doesn’t suffer fools.”

“Really?” There was a note of challenge in her voice. “You think highly of yourself, if you believe that the Great Lord needs you more than any other Friend of the Dark…”

 _Thinking highly of himself_ was not the wording Elan would have used, but he was not about to argue semantics with Mierin, so he just shrugged. “In a sense, I suppose,” he said. “Do you want to gamble your life on me being mistaken?” He stopped walking and spread his hands. “Be my guest.”

Mierin stared, eyes wide behind the silver mask she was still wearing. Eventually she continued walking. “I think not, Tedronai,” she said as Elan fell in beside her. “The Great Lord aside, Barid would hunt me to the ends of the earth.” A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. “His devotion to you is… heartwarming.”

Again, that was not the word Elan would have used — _heartbreaking_ was more fitting — but again, that was not something Elan was going to discuss with her. “Just go home, Mierin,” he said tiredly.

“Maybe I will.” She opened a gateway and stepped through, leaving Elan alone on the street. That suited him fine.


End file.
